Gilded Gold
by Today-Only-Happens-Once
Summary: When Ponyboy wakes up in the hospital, he doesn't remember why he is there, or anything that happened in the past two months. Worse, nobody will tell him. And when the gang starts acting weird around each other, Ponybody decides its about time he finds out what happened before it tears everybody apart. Post-Novel. Please read and review! HIATUS (not abandoned entirely, however)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey all. I guess this fandom is my siren: it keeps calling to me. This'll be a long-ish one. I really, really hope that you all like it. Let me know in a review!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders or any content affiliated with it. **

**Summary: When Ponyboy wakes up in the hospital, he doesn't remember why he is there, or anything that happened in the past two months. Worse, nobody will tell him. And when the gang starts acting weird around each other, Ponybody decides its about time he finds out what happened before it tears everybody apart. **

….

Gilded Gold

…..

When I wake up, I notice two things.

The first is that there is a low, indistinct murmur of voices. I can't tell who they belong to or what they are saying, but my brain is too out of it to really try very hard anyway.

The second is that I am not in my own bed. I can tell without moving or opening my eyes that it's too stiff and too small. The air tastes like metal and smells faintly of antiseptic, making my nose itch. My hand twitches slightly.

"Ponyboy?" Somebody's hand fumbles with mine.

I recognize the voice, but I can't quite place it. I feel a little out of it, if you want to know the truth, and it takes me a bit before I can open my eyes. The first thing I see is Sodapop staring down at me, eyes bright with equal parts relief and concern.

"Hey," I say, my voice coming out scratchy and quiet.

"Hey." Soda tries to smile. He's in his DX shirt, loose strands of his wheat-gold hair falling into his face. He's got something dark—grease or oil—just under his left cheekbone and it somehow makes his dark eyes look even darker. The light is casting shadows across the room as well, which doesn't help my brother's pale complexion.

"How do you feel, kiddo?" The deep voice doesn't catch me as off guard as it probably should. I look past Soda's shoulder to see Darry standing in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall. My oldest brother looks cleaner than Sodapop, but no less worn.

"Um…" I blink a few times, trying without much success to clear my head. Soda frowns.

"It's okay," Darry says quickly. I give him a strange look, because the sudden rush of reassurance isn't like my oldest brother. Darry continues without noticing. "Doc said you might be a little foggy when you woke up."

I nod. Soda looks back at Darry, who looks back at my older brother and subtly shakes his head side to side.

"What?" I ask, looking between the two. They share a glance.

"It's nothing, Pone," Sodapop replies, but his eyes are doubtful.

I want to argue with him, but my disagreement is cut off by a yawn. "What time is it?" I ask instead.

"About three." Darry pushes himself off the wall and walks over to stand beside the bed on the opposite side of where Sodapop is sitting.

"In the morning?" I look up at my oldest brother, who looks exhausted and worried as he nods slowly. I frown. "How long have I been here?"

"It's Thursday," Soda answers. I try to think back to figure out how long its been since Thursday, but I can't remember anything specific.

"When did I get here?" I pause. "Or…how?" I can't remember anything. My brain feels fuzzy.

"You've been here a week, Pony," Darry says evasively. There is something off about his voice, but I can't place it as I feel myself slipping back into unconsciousness. Darry pushes my hair back.

"Go to sleep, kiddo," Sodapop says softly. "We'll be here when you wake up."

…..

"Really?"

"Doc said it was possible."

"Maybe it's for the best, Soda. I mean, maybe its better if he doesn't remember what happened."

"But Steve…if he doesn't remember, who's going to tell _us_ what happened? Two-Bit's sure as—"

"Soda."

The conversation cuts out abruptly as I open my eyes, squinting momentarily against the glare of the lights above me. I am still in the hospital, but I feel more awake than I did the last time. I suddenly feel hungry, despite the fact that my stomach is sore for some reason I can't explain. I try to push myself up but there is suddenly a firm hand on my chest that gently pushes me back down.

"Not so fast," Soda tells me. "How do you feel?"

"Good," I answer, smiling at him. Soda gives me a look that shows he doesn't believe my answer, but I ignore it. "When do I get to go home?"

Steve scoffs. "You've been awake for less than two minutes and already want to get out."

"Can you blame me?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow. The entire gang has always hated hospitals. We always have, and I'm pretty sure we always will.

Steve shrugs. "I'll give you that one, kid." He looks at Soda. "I'll go call Darry. He'll want to know."

"Thanks," Soda replies as Steve walks out of the room, closing the door behind him. My brother blows out a long breath before he turns to look at me. "How are you, _really_?"

"I'm fine, Sodapop."

Soda still looks doubtful, but he doesn't argue. Instead, he walks to stand by the window. It's not until the sunlight streaming in through the blinds hits his face that I realize how dark the circles under his eyes are. How pale he looks. He hasn't been getting enough sleep, and a pang of guilt hits me.

"Soda," I say, and he turns around immediately. "Go get some sleep. I'll be alright."

"I ain't leaving. Besides," Soda replies with a shrug. "I can't sleep much anyway." He tries to smile, but it's a terrible attempt.

That gets me. "Why?" I ask, concerned. "Something up?"

Soda gives me a sad look. "Pone…you don't remember anything?"

It doesn't occur to me until then that I hadn't really put much thought into _why_ I was in the hospital. I thought hard, but the last thing I could remember was Soda's birthday party.

"I remember your birthday party," I offer, but it sounds wrong somehow. I stare at the thin cotton sheet on the bed in concentration. "Something happen there?" I stop when I see Soda's slightly pale expression.

"Ponyboy…that was two months ago," he says thickly.

"Two months?" I repeat, bewildered and a bit panicked. "You're sure?"

Soda must be able to see the panic in my expression, because he rushes to the side of the hospital bed and starts rubbing circles in my back. He speaks in a low, soothing voice but its not until he says that the doctor said this was a possible side effect that I actually hear what he is saying.

"And there's nothing they can do about it?" I ask.

Soda shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Pony."

Two months. _Two months_. Soda starts telling me to breathe. Telling me that it'll be okay. That I'll be fine.

I want to believe him.

….

I spend the next three days doing one of three things: losing games of poker, staring at the ceiling, or telling people that I feel fine despite my apparent concussion and the soreness in my stomach with a scar to show for it. By the end of the third day, I'm relatively certain that I've never been this bored before in my life. Steve, the only person in the room because both of my brothers are at work, laughs when I explain this to him.

"Suck it up, kid," he says. "You've put your brothers through a lot recently. You can give them a few days to relax without having to worry about you."

"They do anyway," I point out. There's a beat of silence before I curse. "This doesn't make any sense. What _happened_ to me?"

"I've been sworn to secrecy," Steve replies, and for a brief second, seems apologetic.

"You know something, Steve?" I reply, scowling at the ceiling. "If I wasn't on strict orders from the doctor, Darry, and Soda to stay in this bed, I'd slug you right now."

"You can't tell, but right now? I find you _very_ intimidating," Steve deadpans.

"You don't _get_ it," I groan. "Having everybody know what happened the past two months but _you_ is…it's…" I fumble to find the right word.

"It's better you don't know, Ponyboy," Steve says. The sudden seriousness of his voice catches me off guard. "Trust me on this."

"I wouldn't trust you as far as I can throw you," I tell him half-heartedly.

Steve gives me a dry look. "Just do us a favor and don't go looking for trouble for a while."

"I never look for trouble, Steve," I reply as I watch him shuffle a deck of cards. "It finds me."

"Amen to that," he says, slamming the deck down in front of me. "Your deal."

…..

"You're free to go as soon as your brother finishes signing the paperwork," Doctor Richards tells me the following morning with a smile. I barely hear him, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. I'm beginning to realize how restless I feel and my hand twitches in anticipation of being let out of the stuffy hospital room. I can tell I'm not the only one: Sodapop and Darry have been here almost as much as I have. Darry reads all of the pages, but the speed with which he scribbles his signature at the bottom betrays his impatience. Soda paces across the floor.

I'm still frustrated: not knowing what happened is killing me. The doctor told me about my injuries, but he said I'd be fine in a day or two aside from that scar. He added that, in hindsight, it wasn't all that bad.

So I don't know why nobody will tell me what I'm missing from the past two months.

"Where's Two-Bit?" I ask. I hadn't seen him at all in the past five days I'd been conscious. Soda stops suddenly and both he and Darry look at me. Soda looks sad and Darry looks furious, but neither expression stays long enough for me to actually tell anything from it. I dismiss it as I wait for my answer.

"He's workin'," Darry eventually replies.

"Two-Bit got a job?" I laugh, but I also feel annoyed. What else do I not remember?

Soda ignores my question. "Thanks, Doc," he tells the older man with a sincere smile.

"Of course, Mr. Curtis," he replies with a kind smile. I like Doctor Richards: he's real nice and sincere—something us greasers don't usually see from adults. "If anything goes awry, you know how to reach me."

Darry stands up and hands him the clipboard before shaking his hand. "Hopefully we won't need to," Darry says.

The doctor laughs. "Indeed." He turns to me, and for a second I think he'll say something, but he just smiles and inclines his head. "Goodbye, Ponyboy." He leaves before I can reply.

Darry looks at me. "You ready, Pony?"

"Of course, Dar," I reply, jumping down from the hospital bed. The room tilts violently, and I slam my hand down on the bed to keep myself from falling over. Both of my brothers are beside me instantly, Soda gripping my arm and Darry's arms hovering.

"You okay?" Soda asks me. I blink hard and the room stops spinning. I nod and Soda lets go, staying beside me in case I collapse.

I smile at my brothers in reassurance. I realize then that Steve is right about one thing: I've been making my brothers worry too much. "Let's go."

….

"There's no place like home," I tell myself as I get out of Darry's truck and look at the house. It looks the same as ever, and in this case, that's a good thing. Soda steps up next to me, nudges my shoulder.

"I'll race you inside," he tells me. I eye the short distance to the door.

"Sodapop, it's less than four yards."

"Ready…"

"Soda—"

"Set…"

"I don't—"

"Go!"

My brother starts running and I take off less than a second after him. Soda slows down going up the porch steps and I clear them in one leap, passing him as I sprint inside. Soda comes in after me, laughing breathlessly.

"Glory, Pone," Soda says. "Even when I cheat, I can't beat you." He's ginning.

"What's that tell you?" I reply, smirking even as I try to catch my breath and ignore the pang in my stomach that resulted from my leap up the steps.

Darry comes in, shaking his head in disbelief as he closes the door behind him. "That's just embarrassing, Soda."

Soda laughs again, sitting himself down on the couch. "Nah. If I was gonna lose to somebody, it was gonna be my kid brother. Pony here's a regular speed demon."

"Yet no fuzz has ever given me a speeding ticket," I answer. I've had my license for almost a year, having gotten it a few days after I turned sixteen.

Darry walks into the kitchen, opening up a cabinet. "Let's keep it that way, Pone," he calls lightheartedly.

I smile, but don't reply. I'm not willing to make that promise. Soda notices my lack of reply, and a reckless, mischievous glint alights in his dark eyes.

"You've got time."

I smile and am about to reply when there's a knock at the door.

"Social services?" I ask. Soda heaves himself off the couch and shakes his head.

"They came by two weeks ago," he says, his voice worried. "Dar?" he calls.

"Go ahead and answer it, Soda," Darry replies. "I'll be there in a sec."

Sodapop walks to the door and swings it open. It's Two-Bit. I smile before noticing that he seems uncomfortable, out of place. I look at Soda and freeze. His expression has darkened to the point that he seems dangerous. Almost Dallas Winston-dangerous.

"H-hey, Sodapop," Two-Bit says.

I reply before Soda does. "Hey, Two-Bit."

Two-Bit's eyes zero in on mine and he suddenly looks relieved. "Glory hallelujah—"

Soda cuts him off. There's an edge to his voice that confuses me. "Two-Bit."

Two-Bit's eyes suddenly turn almost pleading as he meets Soda's gaze. I go to step forward, step between them or at least be closer in case one of them does something stupid, but Darry is suddenly behind me, his hand on my shoulder to keep me in place. I look at him, but his eyes are as dark as Soda's and he doesn't look back at me.

"I just want to make sure he's alright," Two-Bit tells Soda. Glances at Darry. "And…" his voice drops. "I'm sorry. You know I didn't know."

Sodapop's expression softens slightly, but he shakes his head. "Just go. Please."

Two-Bit locks gazes with me for a moment, but I'm so confused I don't know what my expression is. I can't tell what his is, either. Then he turns and walks away.

There's a very long stretch of silence after Soda closes the door before Darry's quiet voice breaks it. "I need your help in the kitchen, Soda. Pony…go clean your room up."

I go to my room, but I don't clean. Instead, I flop down on the bed and look at the ceiling. I try again to remember something since Soda's birthday, but nothing. Something big happened in the past two months. Something I should know, but don't.

It doesn't matter, I decide. Because I'm going to find out.

…..

**A/N: I ask in advance that you dearies please suspend your disbelief just a bit. To all you medical experts out there: does "creative license" count as an excuse for any lack of correlation/research? :)**

**Please leave a review. First chapters are among the most daunting to post as an author, and I feel iffy like always, so any input would be forever appreciated. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: You guys are amazing! Sorry about the delay: we can all blame school. Also sorry that this chapter is a bit shorter than the last. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders, nor can I think of any creative way to say as much at the moment. Apologies. **

**Warning: Slight cliffhanger. Nothing huge. **

**Please enjoy and leave a review!**

…**..**

The following morning, it becomes clear that getting answers is going to be much harder than I had thought.

"C'mon, Darry," I complain. "Why can't I go?" I need to get out of the house away from my brothers: library, movie house, anywhere will do.

Darry looks at me evenly, leaning against the kitchen counter and crossing his arms over his chest. "No, Ponyboy. You just got out of the hospital, for cryin' out loud."

I look to Soda, but I can tell by the way he meets my gaze and shakes his head that I'm on my own in this argument. I sigh sharply.

"Fine," I tell them, frustrated even though I know that they are probably right. "Can I go _anywhere_?"

"The couch," Darry replies dryly, visibly annoyed at me. The feeling is mutual, but I know better than to say anything. Darry and I have been better about our disagreements, and I really don't feel like fighting with anyone today. I remember what Steve told me at the hospital about my brothers, and decide to keep my mouth shut.

I turn around and stalk out of the room.

I turn on the TV and flop onto the couch. It's Hee-Haw reruns. I watch for a while, but when Hank Williams comes on screen, I groan and turn the TV off before deciding to go to the bedroom, resigning myself to another boring day. At least I'm home and not at the hospital. I grab the nearest book within my reach—_The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_—and flip to a random page.

Soda opens the door to my room, peeks his head in, and then slips inside. He closes the door softly behind him and sits on the edge of the bed. I glance at him, but when he doesn't say anything, I look to the book and stare resolutely at the page before me. I know my brother wants to talk, but I'm so confused I wouldn't know what to tell him.

"Ponyboy."

I fold the corner of the page over and then close the book, dropping it into my lap. I look at Soda. He gives me a hesitant smile, coughs awkwardly.

"Hey Sodapop," I say, hoping to get rid of the tension. It's a foreign thing between the two of us. An unwelcome barrier neither of us are sure how to get rid of. "You got work today?"

"Darry and I are gonna stay home. Do stuff around here," he tells me, watching me carefully. "Steve'll be over in about an hour."

"Two-Bit?" I ask flatly, knowing the answer as the scene from yesterday rushes to the forefront of my mind. Soda tenses a bit, and doesn't answer.

I nod in understanding, and go to pick the book back up again. Soda stops me. "Pone." He waits for me to meet his gaze before continuing. "You alright?"

His question aggravates me. I know my brothers are just worried, but it doesn't seem fair when they won't tell me why. "Yes, Sodapop," I snap, harsher than Soda deserves. Something falls in Soda's eyes at my tone. "Sorry," I tell him, and mean it.

"It's alright, kid," he tells me. Again: the difficult smile. Something inside me deflates.

"Who's turn is it for dinner tonight?" I ask, trying to change the topic.

"Mine," he tells me before winking. "Purple pancakes."

"Glad to see some things never change," I comment with a grin. That gets him to smile, before he stands and walks to the door.

Soda looks hesitant to leave for a moment, lingering in the doorway. He doesn't say anything, though, before ducking out of the room.

I sigh and pick up my book again.

….

I last maybe half an hour before I give up on reading, slamming my book shut and tossing it across the room. My mind keeps going to the scenes from yesterday. To the fact that I don't remember anything.

I stare at the wall for a moment before pushing myself out of the bed and walking into the kitchen, even though I'm not hungry. It's not until I close the cabinet that I realize how eerily quiet the house is, how empty it feels. Through the window, I can see Darry out back cleaning the grill. I hear the sound of an engine start and stop a second later and realize that Soda is working on the truck in the driveway.

I walk over and turn on the radio. "Sherry" by The Four Seasons hits my ears, but I don't really listen to it. I grab a pad of paper off a table and the nearest pen and stretch out on the floor by the couch, not paying much attention to what I'm drawing. To be honest, I'm not sure how long I stay like that. I know it's long enough for "Sherry" to end and three other songs to play as well, before the door opens and Steve steps inside.

He shakes his head when he looks at me sprawled out on the floor and the door ricochets shut behind him.

"Glad you could make it," I tell him dryly.

Steve doesn't reply, just cranes his neck slightly to look at what I'm drawing. I look down at my own work. It's a closed door with light peeking out from the cracks, shaded to look like it's in a dark room.

Steve rolls his eyes like he's given up trying to understand me and moves towards the kitchen. I turn back to the drawing and stare at it, adding a few strokes here and there. The song on the radio changes again.

I push myself up off the floor, gathering the papers and pen and tossing them onto the table. I turn the radio off and follow Steve into the kitchen, and a quick glance at the clock tells me that it's nearing noon. I don't feel particularly hungry, but I know I should probably eat something. Steve's looking through the ice box, so I lean against the table and wait. He pulls out two Pepsi's.

There's a beat of silence as Steve turns back to look for something else, filled only with the drifting song of the radio. Then I decide to break it: "I doubt you'll tell me _why_ you've been sworn to secrecy."

Steve glances at me. "Nope."

I sigh. I hadn't really expected a different answer. Steve doesn't say anything more, swinging the icebox shut with his foot and walking out. I hear the front door open and shut and decide to follow. I grab an apple off the counter and head out to the front porch, sitting down on the step as Steve and Soda talk to each other about the truck's engine.

Soda laughs at something Steve says, flicking a towel at him. Steve blocks it with his arm, latching onto the towel and yanking it out of my brother's grasp in one motion. Soda runs around the truck, trying to wrestle it out of Steve's grip. Steve flicks the towel at my brother and hits him in the side of the face. Soda chuckles. I bite into the apple.

"Oh, it's on now, Stevie boy," he says right before launching himself at the other greaser. It doesn't take long for the towel to go forgotten and my brother and his best friend to grapple with one another in our front yard, laughing the entire time. They stumble towards the porch, and Steve manages to knock Soda to the ground. Something falls out of my brother's pocket and lands at my feet.

I lean over to pick it up. It's his switchblade. I flip it open, turning it over in my hands, and something suddenly occurs to me. I touch a hand to my stomach, and can feel the small scar through the thin gray t-shirt I have on.

Suddenly, my front yard fades out of my vision and—

_I'm standing in a dark alley, with one streetlamp that seems to cast more shadows than light. _

"_Where ya going, Slick?" Solomon steps out under the street lamp, the light somehow managing to shadow his face while illuminating his patented silver tie and the slick black suit. _

"_Nowhere, Sol," I reply. My stomach twists, but I shove my hands into my pockets and cock an eyebrow. His pale gray eyes search mine coolly. A gust of wind ruffles his dark, styled hair. _

"_Well, I'd certainly hope not. Especially since you haven't given me my money yet."_

"_I'm working on it," I reply evenly. "I just need a couple days."_

_The corner of his mouth curls as he slips his long-fingered hands into his pockets. "See now, that's where our problem is." He pauses. "Because you said that a couple days ago. And I can't go around town with people thinking I've gone soft and started cutting deals."_

"_Hey, man," I tell him, holding my hands out. "I—"_

"_But I'm a fair man, Mr. Curtis." One of the hands slides out of his pockets and he slips a stick of gum into his mouth. A faint cinnamon bite fills the air. "I'll give you your few days. Because, well," he chuckles and smiles. "I really need that money." _

_He pulls out an expensive looking switchblade. My eyes can't seem to tear themselves away as he casually flips out the blade and runs his fingertips lightly over the edge. I remember Solomon's reputation for subtle threats and I get his message. I nod._

"_You'll get it."_

_His eyes flash dangerously so suddenly that I almost—almost—take a step back. "If you don't, Slick, it'll be your buddy's turn to pay up. Capiche?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_And you won't go telling anybody about this lovely meeting, will you?"_

"_You really _don't_ have much faith in me, do you, Sol?" I say, much more casual than I probably should._

_He smiles, turning the knife over so that it glints under the shadowing street light. "Slick, if I did, I wouldn't have survived all these years." He turns away-_

"Kid!"

I gasp and pitch forward, right into Soda. "Whoa," he says, steadying me. He gives me a funny look. "You alright, Pony?"

I blink. "Fine," I say, though it's a lie. _What was that? _I think. The weight of the fear and panic has not completely vanished, and my pulse is still racing. I shrug out of Soda's grip before he can notice. "Daydreaming," I tell them.

Steve seems to buy it, turning back to the truck. Soda cocks an eyebrow at me in skepticism, but I shoot him a grin. Soda nods and turns back, calling out to Steve. I swallow, kicking the switchblade into the grass and grabbing the half eaten apple before going inside. I walk to the kitchen, tossing the apple into the trash can.

I grip the edge of the counter and bow my head, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment as a dozen questions race through my mind. Was that a memory or just my imagination? Who is Solomon and why do I owe him money? Do I still owe him money? What "buddy" was he talking about? _Did I just remember something?_ My hand shakily touches the scar on my stomach. It's about as wide as a switchblade.

"Ponyboy?" It's Darry. My head shoots up and I let go of the counter. Darry looks concerned, but my mind can't come up with an excuse. I shake my head and walk out of the kitchen.

….

Dinner is just between me and my brothers, but it goes by in a tense silence. The only real sound to be heard is the scraping of forks on plates. Most of my food goes untouched, the incident from earlier is still fresh in my mind.

I'm not sure if my brothers are expecting me to break the quiet or if they just don't know how to break it themselves, but after a while, I ask the question that had been pressing on my mind. "What is going on?" I look evenly at both Darry and Soda across the table.

"What?" Darry asks, but I know that he knows what I'm talking about.

"Don't, Darry," I snap, shooting him a dark glare. "I wake up in the hospital and nobody will tell me how or why. You both seem to think that I'm gonna fall apart at any second. And what about what happened with Two-Bit yesterday?"

Soda tries. "Pone, list—"

"No!" I turn on him. "I want answers." I stand up, pushing the chair back as I do so. Darry mirrors my movement, and Soda slowly rises out of his own seat. He looks at me imploringly, but it won't work.

"You've gotta understand, kiddo," Soda says, and I scoff. He continues anyway. "We're trying to protect you."

I curse. "From _what_?"

Darry's eyes are frozen over. Determined to not tell me. "Ponyboy—"

Suddenly, the room seems too small. I realize that I'm taking deeper breaths than normal, but I don't care. It doesn't matter. It's the only thing that is keeping me in place. But even _that_ doesn't last.

Darry takes a step towards me, and I bolt out the door and into the cool night air.

….

**A/N: Like it? Love it? Hate it? Wanna flame it? Let me know, please! Also, as a special request: Pretty please let me know if any of you start to get too confused to follow the story. There's supposed to be confusion, but if it gets so much that you cannot follow what is going on anymore/find the confusion too hard to follow, just lemme know. I'll try to clear things up! Thanks! Please review! I'm always kinda "iffy" about my chapters. Feedback is a wonderful thing. Thank you!**


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